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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779586">The Ride Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/1spideyson/pseuds/1spideyson'>1spideyson</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Short &amp; Sweet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:42:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>735</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779586</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/1spideyson/pseuds/1spideyson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Go to sleep, Peter,” she whispers as the music swells unobtrusively, “Just go to sleep, everyone's safe,” and that only makes the tears fall faster behind his closed eyelids because how did he get so lucky? How does she always know what he’s thinking, and how to tell him what he needs to hear?</p><p>“Okay,” he manages weakly, further muffled by her mound of hair cushioning his head, “okay, MJ.”<br/>***</p><p>A closer look into THAT deleted scene.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michelle Jones/Peter Parker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Ride Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The smell of the air-con (plastic, recycled air) further adds to the buzzing in his head as he searches for his seat. MJ ends up doing the belt for him when he takes too long to respond to the electronic prompt. He just blinks and runs a hand through his hair sheepishly. Her eyes are worried but mostly warm.</p><p>All Peter feels is tired. He can’t even summon up the energy to be relieved that no one died or excited to be going home or nervous about sitting next to the girl of his dreams. Honestly, he’s so glad Ned needed to sit next to Betty- he doesn’t think he could entertain his best friend’s million questions or reenactments right now. Usually he appreciates Ned’s enthusiasm, it’s one of the reasons they get along so well, but right now he just wants to sink into his tiny seat and breathe in the vaguely-floral-clean-scent of MJ’s hair. Some of it falls onto his shoulder.</p><p>He doesn’t brush it off.</p><p>Instead he sits staring blankly at the mini movie screen for a while, barely registering take off, his arms limp in his lap. Maybe now is a good time to finally use the dual-headphone adapter. He doesn’t really need to finish his checklist anymore, (seeing as he skipped a few steps and still ended up with what he hoped) but it might be nice to do it anyway. If only he wasn’t so damn tired.</p><p>It’s in the middle of this thought that MJ slips an earbud into his left ear. Peter jumps, skittish, opening his mouth to ask what’s going on, but no sound comes out.</p><p>He feels stupid, slow and stuck in molasses as he sits gawping at MJ. She’s taken her sweatshirt off. He coughs, desperately trying to loosen his stuck throat, not knowing what to do.</p><p>“Shhh, you big idiot, nothing’s wrong. Just listen to this, okay? Focus on it,” and suddenly there are tinkling piano keys filling his head and he sighs, letting his eyelids finally come to rest against his stinging cheekbones. There is a feather-light touch there, and he knows it’s her. He hums, barely audible in the back of his throat. Something soft covers his lap, his hands weakly grip and twist into it. A hand covers them over the fabric. It feels so nice, so soothing, Peter can’t hold back his whine, and the sound of it reminds him of all the other parts of his body which are calling - screaming - for attention; his leg still aches (the bone was probably fractured from one of the many cars which slammed into him), the joints of his arms burn from pulling himself roughly through the air, bruises fading on his torso. Classical music in one ear and static quickly filling the other. He sort of wants to cry, and MJ must see his face scrunch up with hurt because the hand over his disappears and starts tipping his heavy skull - when did his brain become a bowling ball - to the side until it rests against her bony shoulder. She’s warm and he feels so so cold, but it’s still not enough so a few tears break away, burning on his clammy skin. She wipes them away and the infrastructure of her hand is soft. Cool. Maybe he has a fever. He must, either from the adrenaline crash or the pain, but it doesn’t matter because he lets himself cry for all of it; for Tony, for Beck even, for some of his last scraps of innocence torn and trickling away as steady as the Beethoven in his ear.</p><p>He feels more than hears MJ hum softly to the melody. “Well,” he thinks, “maybe it isn’t all gone.”</p><p>“Go to sleep, Peter,” she whispers as the music swells unobtrusively, “Just go to sleep, everyone's safe,” and that only makes the tears fall faster behind his closed eyelids because how did he get so lucky? How does she always know what he’s thinking, and how to tell him what he needs to hear?</p><p>“Okay,” he manages weakly, further muffled by her mound of hair cushioning his head, “okay, MJ.”</p><p>And he does.</p><p>They’ll wake in the same position hours later. Somewhere over the Atlantic, look at each other softly, and settle right back into their spots. Peter will still be tired, but it’ll be a long flight yet.</p><p>They have time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank y'all for reading!</p><p>This is my first ever work, and it was a little scary to publish, so if you're at all inclined, leave a comment and I might write more? </p><p>xoxo</p></blockquote></div></div>
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